Secrets and Charms
by julesblack21
Summary: Mid-OofP AU. Harry sees something in the Pensieve during an Occlumency lesson with Snape that changes everything he's ever known.
1. Snape's Worst Memory

Chapter 1: Snape's Worst Memory

* * *

It was unusually warm for the end of October. Severus Snape could feel the back of his cloak sticking to his spine with sweat. The air moved around him, thick and pleasant, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost transport himself back to days long ago, days he would relive forever, if he could.

There was the sound of gravel scuffing over pavement behind him, and he was brought out of his revelry by his companion, who was scraping the sole of his shoe on the edge of the curb.

"Damn gum on my shoe," the man said, dragging his foot along the curb, over and over. The sound was grating.

"Are you a wizard or not," hissed Severus, throwing the words over his shoulder, trying to look as though he didn't know the man behind him. They were loitering on the street, outside a noisy pub. Severus leaned hard against the stone facade of a building, looking as though he was waiting for someone. His companion, he could hear, rustled through his cloak, and muttered a quick spell. The tiny sound of the gum unsticking itself from the man's shoe echoed in the alley next to them.

"We've been here for two hours," said the man, walking up behind Severus. Severus didn't answer. He just looked ahead, eyes content on staring at the door of the pub.

"What are we even here for?" he asked.

"We are here, Gibbon," said Severus, still facing away from the man, "Because we were sent here. To gather information. If you are not content with your assigned task, then perhaps you should speak with the Dark Lord."

Gibbon made a frustrated sound. Severus could hear his shoes scuffing down the alley, away from him. He wouldn't leave, Severus knew, because he wasn't a stupid man. Just impatient and hungry for flashier tasks and the rewards that came with them.

But Severus was a patient man. It was why he was given tasks like listening at pub doors. The charm he performed when they arrived amplified the sound within the building, and he scanned with his ears the different conversations held within.

Much of it was drunken babble. It was a friday night at Godric Hollow's only wizarding bar, and many of the pub's patrons were unwinding after a long week of toiling away at their jobs. Most of the conversations, when Severus had arrived, centered on troubles at work and relief that it was finally the weekend. Shouts of greeting went up every time the door opened and a new face joined the crowd. Talk transitioned to weekend plans and quidditch. Now, with many of the patrons several pints in, things were getting louder, and tongues were getting looser. This was when things that ought not to be revealed came into the light, because what harm could come of it, most would think, when you were surrounded by your best mates in a loud bar? Severus leaned into the wall a little further.

"...I thought, "Why not? It was only one vial of eel eyes. He bet me I couldn't swallow the whole thing without gaggin'. Won ten galleons off 'em. He punched me in the nose after, the sore loser."

"...I took my eyes off her for one second and this bloak in a dragon hide jacket comes sauntering over..."

"...Oi, Collins! Where'd you put in case of fire whiskey for the Potter wedding?"

Severus unstuck himself from the wall and stood up straight. He felt as though a cup of hot, sour liquid had been poured into his stomach. Had he heard right? He leaned back into the wall, put his ear to the stone, as if he were listening through a keyhole.

"It's by the back door, on top of the butter beer."

"Where? I don' see it."

"On top of the butter beer. By the back door. Unless someone moved it. Ask Brittle if he moved it!"

"Oi, Brittle! Did you move the Fire Whiskey for the Potter wedding?"

Mention of the Potter wedding sent a rumble through the pub.

"That Potter is a lucky man, marrying Lily Evans."

Severus pulled away from the wall as if he'd been shocked. When he first heard mention of the Potter wedding, he'd suspected who... he'd known what was the likely news, but it still sent a stinging, sickly feeling down his body.

Forgetting his duty, he spun on the spot and disappeared down the alley.

* * *

"It's beautiful, Lily."

Lily Evans spun in front of the mirror again. She was making herself dizzy, but couldn't stop twirling again and again. She loved the way the white lace fanned away from her hips as she spun.

"I can't believe the wedding is tomorrow," she said, dropping into a chair. She was out of breath. "Alice, it seems like a dream."

"Oh, Lily," said Alice, jumping up from the bed, where she sat watching her best friend spin around the room like a lace-covered top. "You'll wrinkle your dress. Stand up, stand up!"

Alice walked over to Lily and pulled her out of the chair. The girls were laughing, both red-faced and smiling. Lily turned and let Alice unhook the long row of buttons that traced the curve of her spin. Lily lifted her arms and Alice pulled the dress over her head. She walked over to the armoire and re-hung the dress on its hanger. Alice pulled out her wand and cast a charm over the dress that smoothed out the wrinkles Lily had created.

"Is this how you felt, when you married Frank?" asked Lily as she pulled off the crinoline she wore underneath the dress. She opted for a loose-fitting cotton nightgown. She was still warm from dancing around the room, and wanted to save the pretty, new silk nightgowns in her suitcase for the honeymoon.

"Well," said Alice, sitting beside Lily on the bed, "to be honest, Frank's mother wouldn't even let me touch my dress before the wedding. She was convinced I'd set fire to it some how. You drop a couple tea cups at Sunday lunch, and suddenly you can't be trusted with nice things." Alice smiled warmly and pulled the silver tiara out of Lily's red hair. She was trying to pull a brush through the red tangles and had forgotten it was on her head.

Lily gave Alice a wry look. "No, I mean, this flying feeling in your stomach. Like your feet aren't even on the floor. Like they'll never touch the floor again!" She flopped back on the bed, her arms above her head. Alice flopped back next to her. They laughed, not sure at what, until their stomachs ached. The laughter gave way to deep breathes and Lily could feel her cheeks flush. She wasn't sure if it was the warm air drifting from outside or the bottle of wine she and and Alice had shared earlier that night.

They lay like that, looking up at the ceiling for a while, without speaking. As her head cleared, Lily could feel something small and cold creeping into her stomach and head. Something that had been suppressed by the wine and the laughter and the dancing around the room.

"Do you ever worry," she asked, turning her face to Alice, "that these will be the happiest moments of our lives, and that everything after..." She trailed off at the wrinkle that appeared over Alice's brow. Alice turned to the side to face Lily.

"You can't think like that," she said, reaching over to clasp her hand around Lily's forearm. "We're all afraid of what might happen tomorrow, but it's important to hold on to these moments and hope...no, not hope. To know that more are on their way." She paused. "Frank and I decided to start our family," she said finally. "We haven't told anyone yet, not even Augusta."

Lily pulled her best friend into a hug. "That's wonderful, Alice."

"Just think," said Alice, "Our children will go to Hogwarts together, just like we did."

Both women let the embrace linger. Lily could feel her nerves calming.

They broke apart, though, as the sound of a slamming door echoed up the hallway. They both stood, Alice pulling her wand out of her pocket. Lily yanked open the drawer of the side table next to the bed and pulled out hers. They aimed them toward the door. Alice gave Lily an uneasy look. Lily flicked her head toward the door. Alice stepped lightly to the other end of the room, Lily following behind. She clasped the door knob and, nodding her head in sync with Lily's three times, pulled the door open as Lily threw herself onto the landing.

"Stupify!"

There was a crack, a cry, and the sound of broken glass falling to the floor. Alice flicked her wand and all the lights in the house blazed up around them.

"James!"

James Potter stood at the base of the stairs, eyes wide, shaking the remnants of a broken picture frame out of his messy hair.

"Merlin's pants, what are you doing here?" shouted Lily as she bounded down the stairs. Her heart was threatening to explode out of her chest. "You're supposed to be at your parent's house!"

"I, I, I..." stammered James, but Alice cut him off.

"Lily," she said, with a hard, warning tone. Lily stopped short of her husband-to-be and turned to look up at Alice. She gave her a knowing look. Lily, turning back, retreated a few steps, and raised her wand slightly, enough to see James' eyes flit to it briefly and back up to her face.

"What did you give me for my seventeenth birthday?"

Lily watched James' eyes search her face. He looked taken aback. A tiny crease appeared in the middle of his brow as he searched for his words.

"A...a necklace. A silver necklace with a lily pendant. From Juniper Jewelery in Diagon Alley," he said finally. Lily lowered her wand.

"It's okay, Alice," she said, turning to look up the stairs. "It's him, though I still don't know why," she said, turning back to face James, "he is here and not galavanting around London with Sirius like he planned."

"I wanted to see you," he said. "I missed you. And besides, Sirius can galavant around London on his own just fine without me. Better, probably, without me." He wobbled a bit on the spot and grabbed a hold of the railing to steady himself.

"Had a little to drink already, I see," said Alice as she walked down the stairs. She gave Lily a hug. "I'll leave you two alone for the night." She stopped in front of James. "But I will be back bright. And. Early." She punctuated each word with a jab to his shoulder. "Good night." Lily and James watched her as she walked across the living room and out of the front door. Lily gave her wand a flick and the door locked.

"Now," she said, walking down the stairs, stopping one level short so that she was eye to eye with James. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Why are you really here? Isn't it bad luck to see your bride before the wedding?"

His eyes raked over her hungrily and when they finally stopped to meet hers, burned so intensely, Lily almost had to look away.

"I couldn't bear," he said, his hands reaching up to wrap around her waist, "to be parted from you."

Lily raised an eyebrow.

"Parted from me?" Her eyes scanned his face. His eyes, before so eagerly taking her in, could no longer meet hers, it seemed. "Blimey, James, how much have you had to drink? Did Sirius pour a whole bottle of whiskey down your throat? And your breath. It could take out a hippogriff."

His cheeks flushed. She hooked a finger under his chin and raised his face so his eyes would meet hers. She smiled and shook her head.

"What am I going to do with you?" She bent down and brushed his lips with hers. James tried to press his face closer, but she had already pulled away and turned to walk up the stairs. He stood dumbly on the step and watched her walk away from him. She paused at the top of the stairs and looked at him over her shoulder. Her red hair swung around her face.

"Are you coming or not?"

* * *

It was the hazy, blue-lighted time of morning, between the dark and dawn, when Lily opened her eyes. She felt wide awake, as if she hadn't slept at all. She looked over at James' sleeping form beside her. He was on his side, his back to her. She smiled as her thoughts flitted to the previous night. They came in flashes, as if they were a barely remembered dream. But a good dream.

Lily turned to her side, snaked her arm around James' waist and nestled her face into the back of his head. His hair tickled her nose. She breathed in his scent.

She pulled her face away. The scent was a strange one. Not wholly unfamiliar, but not the scent she usually associated with James. He was all cotton and musk. Now, it was something more like sweat mixed with herbs.

She pulled away further and noticed long, black hair on the pillow beside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. The scene was still the same. Long, stringy black hair on the pillow next to her. She unwrapped her arm from around James' waist and nudged him gently on the shoulder.

"James."

He stirred but didn't wake. She nudged him again.

"James?"

Lily felt a buzzing sensation vibrate down her body. Her breath quickened. Something was wrong. She slid to the side of the bed and grabbed her wand off the side table. She jabbed the end of it into the figure's back. She could see the person, who was obviously not James, stir and then freeze.

"Don't move," said Lily, her voice coming as a harsh whisper. She jabbed her wand harder into his back. "Stand and put your hands up."

The man rose slowly. She could see that his frame was slight. He wore a black long-sleeved shirt and jeans. His hair was lank and greasy. There was something familiar about him, she thought. The hair and build. The way he moved...

In the split second she paused to puzzle over who was in her bedroom, the figure spun and faced her, wand pointed in her direction. Realization dawned on her slowly, like an egg breaking over her head.

"Severus?"

His eyes switched from panic to regret in one, sharp movement.

"Oblivate."

And everything went dark.


	2. Into the Pensieve

Chapter 2: Into the Pensieve

* * *

Harry Potter soared weightlessly up through darkness and his feet hit awkwardly on the stone floor. He over-balanced and fell backward, hitting the ground with a resounding crack. The pain of the fall was pushed back for a more prominent, sickening feeling radiating from his gut. He looked down and watched the remnants of the memory he had just witnessed floating in the stone Pensieve in front of him.

The silvery contents inside glittered and reflected off the glass jars that covered the walls of Severus Snape's office. The same Severus Snape he had followed in the memory he had just witnessed.

The Pensieve had tempted him from his first Occlumency lesson with Snape. And after all the intrusive rummaging the Hogwarts potion master had done inside his own head, Harry didn't hesitate when Snape left to rescue Montague from the toilet on the fourth floor. He had given a look over his shoulder, listened hard to the corridor beyond to make sure Snape was gone, and bowed over the Pensieve.

He had landed on an empty street, outside a noisy pub. A much younger Snape, maybe 18 or 19 years old, leaned against a wall. He was dressed in a dark traveling cloak with the collar pulled up around his ears. Another man, dressed similarly, stood behind him. While Snape stood stonily watching the street in front of him, the other man couldn't seem to stand still. He paced and fidgeted and twitched at every sound that he encountered. Snape didn't seem to notice.

Harry walked away from Snape and his companion a little and gazed into the pub window. Groups of people cheerfully conversed and drank inside. It was crowded and cramped and warmly lit. Quidditch team banners hung on the walls. He could hear the sound of a wizard wireless somewhere near the window broadcasting a match, but he couldn't discern the teams playing or the game's action.

He turned to look back at Snape, who, if Harry had been visible, would have been staring straight at him. Younger Snape didn't look much different that older Snape. He had the same sallow face, though maybe less lined, the same greasy black hair and hooked nose. He was slighter than his older self, but he stood with the same unnerving stillness, like a spider before it scuttles toward you.

Snape was hissing at his companion without turning. The man looked put out. He flashed a rude sign at Snape's back before stalking down the alley and out of sight. Harry moved closer to Snape, not sure if he should stick around inside the memory any longer. Nothing was happening and the risk didn't seem worth the reward.

Then Snape stood erect and Harry's hand twitched toward the wand in his pocket. It was out of habit. Even though he was invisible, the movement Snape made put him on edge. Harry glanced over his shoulder and then back,trying to see what Snape was seeing. Snape was still staring straight ahead, the look on his face drawn and filled with an emotion that couldn't be placed. Harry turned to scan the street again, but when he turned back, he could just see the tail of Snape's cloak whipping around the corner of the alley behind him.

Harry ran to catch up. Snape weaved through the back alleys of the village. Harry had to maintain a brisk walk to keep Snape in his line of sight. As he followed Snape, he tried to figure out his surroundings. It was a small village - only a a few street full lined with medieval timber framed buildings. After a couple turns, past a church and graveyard, the buildings were more spaced out.

Finally, Snape stopped in front of a two-story cottage with a neat, little garden in front. One light was on upstairs, making the house look like a winking face. Snape gazed up, staring intently at the window. Harry could see shadows moving behind the curtains. He looked back and forth between the cottage and Snape, who had gone stock still again. Harry thought it was unnerving the way he stood. It was almost predatory.

Snape took a deep breath, looking as though he had made up his mind about something. Harry followed as Snape made his way through the small gate at the entrance of the walkway, all the while keeping an eye on the window ahead. He stopped at the front door, reaching out a fist to knock, but drew it away. He turned, and Harry was startled by the quick movement and glittering black eyes that looked like they were burning a hole straight through him.

Snape turned again, but instead of reaching out to knock, he flicked his wand at the door knob. Nothing happened. Harry watched him try again. Nothing. He mumbled something under his breath and there was a click. Snape reached out, gripped the knob and turned it slowly. The door cracked open and Snape paused. After a moment, he opened it further and took a step in.

Harry hesitated. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that what he was about to witness could hardly turn out well.

Ahead of him, Snape seemed to have the same thought. Harry could see him start to turn away but changed his mind again. He took another couple steps forward and Harry followed. The cottage was dark. There were muffled voices coming from upstairs

If Snape had been solid instead of memory, Harry would have run right into the back of him. Snape seemed to hesitate again and made to turn, when a stiff, warm breeze pulled the front door shut and it slammed hard, sending an echo through the cottage.

Snape and Harry's heads turned simultaneously as the voices from upstairs quieted. Snape was quick. He reached in his robes and withdrew a flask with one hand while pointing his wand to room in front of him. He didn't speak, but pulled the tip of his wand over the mouth of the flask and took a long, quick pull from it. He stumbled a bit as he made for the stairs. Harry stayed where he was.

He didn't understand why Snape didn't just run. He didn't understand what was worth all the risk.

It all happened quickly. A door upstairs few open, and someone, a woman, shouted "stupefy!" Then the lights came on, and Harry froze as he looked into the eyes of his mother.

Her face was shining with adrenaline. She was, compared to the cool tones of the rest of their surroundings, brighter than anything in the room. He could see the green of her eyes from where he stood. They were moving frantically, until they rested on Snape. At the sight of him, they softened and she ran toward him. Harry ran forward, too, toward the stairs, to get a better look at his mother, but the sight of Snape caught his eye.

He was no longer Severus Snape. No, he was now the splitting image of James Potter. Harry looked back and forth between Snape and his mother, who didn't realize there was an impostor in her house. He wanted to shout out to her, to warn her, but he was beaten to it by the woman who followed Lily out onto the second floor landing.

She was young as well, with a round face and brown hair in a short, pixie cut. He had seen her before. Alice Longbottom, Neville's mother, before she was tortured into insanity.

She was giving a knowing look to his mother, who retreated a bit.

"What did you give me for my seventeenth birthday?" Lily had her wand raised at Snape.

Here, Harry thought, is where Snape would be caught. He would be caught red-handed. This is why the memory was put in the Pensieve before their lessons - because it would show he was nothing more than a cowardly, sneak thief with nothing better to do than intrude on his parents' happiness.

As he answered the question, Harry held his breath, waiting for the world to come crashing down around Snape's greasy head. But, as he watched his mother's eyes soften toward him again, he pulled out his wand.

"No!" He ran toward them, wishing Lily could hear him. "No, it's Snape! It's Snape!"

They, of course, couldn't hear him, but he yelled anyway. They were talking about a wedding. James and Lily's wedding. James was supposed to be at his stag party with Sirius. Snape seemed to catch on, and added some unbalance to his stance and slurred his words. He was playing the part well.

Alice walked down the stairs. She hugged Lily and prodded James/Snape with a playful tone and a smile that didn't quite make it to her eyes. Harry watched her as she walked across the room to the door. She held the doorknob in her hand a little longer than needed, he noticed, turned it, walked through and closed it with a soft click. He turned back to Snape and his mother, who now had her arms around his neck. He was getting a sick, uneasy feeling in his stomach as he watched them. The look on his mother's face was so full of happiness, happiness that Snape didn't deserve to look at, let alone receive. Snape's face was full of - something. Stunned disbelieving, maybe. Like he couldn't believe he was getting away with it.

Lily leaned in to kiss Snape, and Harry had look away. He could feel his fists, clenched at his side, becoming warm. Hs fingernails cut into his palms. He focused on the room around him instead. He hadn't given it much thought as they had walked in, but now as he looked around, he realized he was in his parents' living room.

It was comfortably furnished, with thick, warm-colored upholstery covering the couch and chairs. It reminded Harry of the Gryffindor Common Room. The mantle over the brick fireplace was covered with picture frames. Harry started to walk over to get a closer look, but stopped when he saw movement on the stairs. Lily was on the landing, looking back at Snape, still at the bottom of the stairs. Lily made a motion with her hands and Snape started to ascend. Harry followed.

In the bedroom, Lily wrapped Snape in a passionate kiss. Harry teetered on the threshold of the room, feeling like he wanted to throw up. At first, Snape didn't move, but soon he was reciprocating Lily's kiss. His hands moved to her waist. Something inside of Harry's head snapped.

He raised his wand and shot hex after hex at Snape, knowing that it would be no use. The spells floated through the air like bullets of light cutting through water. Harry whipped his wand, curse after curse, until his arm was sore. Shouted and screamed at Snape until his voice was raw.

He could feel his grip on the floor start to loosen. He was losing his grip on the memory - different than being pulled from the Pensieve, or leaving after it ended. More like be was being expelled from it.

He turned and left the room, no longer being able to handle the scene in front of him. As he ran down the stairs, he tripped over his feet and fell down the last few steps. His knees hit the floor hard, and for what felt like a very long time, he stayed like that, on all fours, his knees throbbing painfully.

Harry's heart thumped in his ears. He focused on the sound of his own ragged breathing. He wished, over and over, that someone would come. That Alice would come back and stop what was happening upstairs or that his father, the real James, would come and rescue Lily. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

"Someone come," he whispered. "Please, someone come."

He said it over and over, raising his voice in succession, until he was yelling.

"Please."

Harry's cracked, desperate voice echoed throughout the room. He sank back on his knees, trying to focus on the rise and fall of his chest. Once he caught his breath, he pushed himself to his uneasy feet and started to walk around the room.

He looked at everything, hungrily taking in the details of the house he didn't remember. He wanted so desperately to be able to touch the velvet of the sofa, or put his mother's pink scarf, hung on the ornately carved coat rack, to his nose and breathe in her scent, but everything was cold and textureless. Only memory.

He walked to a door on one side of the room and reached to turn the knob, but it wouldn't open. He walked across to the other side, to an open door leading to the kitchen, but, as he tried to walk through it, his body was stopped by an invisible barrier. He threw himself against it for good measure, but it seemed Snape's memory didn't stretch past this room. Instead, Harry walked back over to the mantle above the fireplace and examined the picture frames.

They were pictures of his parents and their friends, or at least he thought they were. In every one of the framed photographs, his mother stood out as bold as a bright flower, while the other people in them were just blurry, gray shapes. Every picture looked like it contained only her.

Harry's head felt like it wanted to explode. Not the same kind of pain that his scar caused, that ripping, searing pain that Voldemort brought on. It was more like his head was filled too quickly and was going to pop like a balloon.

Snape hated his parents, Harry knew, so he didn't understand why he was so focused on Harry's mother. Was it revenge against his father? Why was she much brighter than anything else in the memory? Harry had a sinking feeling, but it was replaced by a bolt of white, hot fury.

He was going to kill Snape. Harry didn't care what Snape's motive had been. All the rage coursing through his veins screamed for Snape's demise. Once he was out of the Pensieve, he would track Snape down and shame him with the knowledge of his deed, and then he would end him. Somehow, he would do it. His anger made him feel capable of anything.

The scene around him suddenly dissolved and he found himself upstairs again, in his parents' bedroom. There were two figures on the bed, sleeping. The cool light of dawn was peeking through the curtains.

Snape was Snape again. He was on his side, his back to Lily, who had her arm snaked around his waist. Lily stirred and Harry could see her eyes were open and wide. There was a confused look on her face. She nudged Snape.

"James?"

Harry could hear the question in her voice. It wasn't asking if he was awake. It was asking who he was.

Snape's eyes were open, the panic plain in the black depths. Lily nudged him again. He didn't move. Lily slid to the edge of the bed and then she had her wand out. She stuck it into Snape's back, growling in a low voice not to move.

Snape closed his eyes for a brief second, drew in a deep breath, and opened them again. Harry had never seen him so uncomposed. Panic was an unfamiliar look on Snape's usually impassive face. He rose slowly, with his hands up.

He took another deep breath, looking resolute, and moved so fast that Harry had a hard time tracking the action. In a swift movement, Snape had turned, pulled out his wand and pointed it at Lily.

The shock and recognition on his mother's face was something Harry wasn't expecting. He had expected anger and disgust. Loathing. But the look was none of those.

She said his name, his first name, with a whisper, the tip of her wand falling incrementally. Snape took advantage of her hesitation.

"Oblivate."

Lily's eyes, her bright, familiar green eyes, slid out of focus.

Snape stood, for a long time, looking at Lily, not sure what to do next. Harry, shaking with rage and helplessness, watched him finally move, walk over to her, and ease her onto the bed. He pulled the blankets over her and brushed a piece of hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear.

The gesture was so tender, Harry could hardly believe what he was watching. Snape bent low and touched his lips to her cheek. Lily's eyes were closed now, her breathe coming and going slowly. Snape watched her for another moment before looking up and over to the wedding dress hung up across the room on the large armoire. He walked over to it and brushed a hand over the white lace, face screwed up in a hurt scowl. He gave one more look at Lily before turning on the spot and disapparating.

And that's when Harry had been thrown up out of the Pensieve and back into Snape's office.

His head ached. His knees ached. He was angrier than perhaps he had ever been in his life, but he pushed all of it down.

He now knew why Snape hated his father so much. It was more than that James was handsome and popular. That he skirted the rules and was a great quidditch player. No, it was because James had gotten the girl.

Snape was in love with Lily Evans.

Harry wasn't sure what to do next. He could wait for Snape to return to his office, surprise him when he least suspected it. The thought of killing Snape was still foremost in his mind, but doubt was starting to seep in. Could he do it? And with Dumbledore gone, with Umbridge ruling over the castle, could he get away with it?

He needed to think. Harry left the office and ran back to the Gryffindor Common Room.


	3. Seen and Unseen

Chapter 3: Seen and Unseen

* * *

It took all Harry could do to run straight to the common room without stopping to retch, or turning to go back to Snape's office to wait for him. He was so focused on not going back that he surprised himself when he made it back to the portrait of the Fat Lady.

On the other side of the portrait hole, he was glad to see most of the Gryffindors had gone to bed. He wasn't sure how long he had been gone. Across the common room, he could see Ron and Hermione at one of the tables, a castle of books stacked around them.

"Ah, you're back," said Ron. He threw his quill down and stretched his arms above his head. "How'd it go? Snape as awful as usual?"

"Harry?" Hermione looked at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," said Harry, without stopping. He tried to configure his face into a look of impassiveness. "Tired. I'll talk to you tomorrow, all right?" He passed the table and made his way straight to the boys' dormitory. Once on the stairs, he could hear footsteps behind him. He took the last flight of steps two at a time and walked into the fifth year dorm. Inside, he could hear Neville's soft snoring. Dean was reading a magazine on his bed. He gave Harry a nod and then look back down.

Harry flopped down on his bed and pulled the curtains closed around him. He heard the dormitory door open and close with a soft click. Muffled footsteps stopped at the end of the bed.

"Harry?"

Harry didn't answer. He could hear Ron linger before finally walking away to his own bed. He was grateful that Ron didn't push him to talk.

Harry stared up at the canopy of his bed for a long time. He waited for sleep to come, or for the flood of memories to wash over, but neither came - just a heaviness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

And on top of it all, his scar was starting to prickle painfully.

"Not tonight," he thought as he massaged it with his fist.

He wasn't sure when sleep actually came, or if it came at all. He didn't dream of dark corridors and doors. He didn't dream of anything for the first time in months.

Everyone in the dormitory was still asleep when he pulled the curtain of his bed open the next morning. He was still in his clothes and shoes from the previous day. He didn't bother to redress himself. Instead, he grabbed his invisibility cloak and left.

It seemed the whole castle was still sleeping, as he walked the corridors with the cloak thrown over him. The muted, gray-blue light filtering in the windows nudged his memory, kept pulling it back to the previous night. The way the same gray-blue light washed over his mother's frightened face.

He walked slowly, his wand clutched in his hand, down to the dungeons. Once outside of Snape's office, he sat opposite the door with his back against the weeping stone wall and waited.

He felt empty and heavy at the same time. The edges of his body felt fuzzy. He didn't know if he ever felt so exhausted in his life.

Surely he had. He'd been through events that had take a toll on his body and mind.

The night Cedric died, he had barely been able to walk up to the castle.

After fighting the Basilisk and nearly dying.

Surely he had felt this way before.

The night he and Hermione had rescued Sirius.

Sirius.

The one person he wished he could talk to, but knew he couldn't. For one, the was no way to communicate with him. All the communication channels in the castle were being watched. Second, what could Harry even say? To tell Sirius of what he saw in the Pensieve would mean Sirius would find a way to get to Hogwarts, because Harry had no doubt that, if he was feeling murderous at the actions of Snape, then Sirius would certainly feel the same, if not more.

He didn't even know if he could get the words out himself, if he could even repeat what he saw to anyone.

The thought Snape had been in love with his mother... no, not love. Snape was not capable of love. It was an emotion that evil, bitter people like him couldn't hope to experience. No, he wasn't in love with her. He was obsessed with her and everything she was to his father. That could only explain what he had seen in the Pensieve.

A hard lump was forming in Harry's throat. He could feel the corners of his eyes start to prickle. He let the feeling overwhelm him for one brief moment before willing it all to go away. It wasn't the time or the place.

Snape was a cancer, thought Harry, rage boiling up in him again. He was a cancer on her memory.

He sat against the stone wall for a long time. His crossed legs had started to fall asleep and there was an ache in his back. Even in all the anger he had racing inside of him, he wasn't sure what he was waiting around for. What he would do when Snape did eventually appear. He just knew he had to sit there until he saw the man with his own eyes. Only then would he know what he needed to do.

After a while, students from Slytherin house started to pass him in the dungeon corridor. He knew their common room was nearby. Mostly older students at first, with bags full of books. The fifth year Slytherins looked as tired and burnt out as the Gryffindors. Then came bleary-eyed younger students with untucked shirts.

Harry pulled his knees to his chest, trying to pull himself as close to the wall as possible. He hadn't thought about the Slytherin students when he started his strange, early morning vigil.

After a while, the wave of people started to slow. Breakfast was starting, but no sign of Snape. He would give it a few more minutes. If he didn't see Snape in a few more minutes, he thought, he would come back later. Five minutes passed. Then ten. A quarter hour passed, and finally, Harry decided he would go.

As Harry stood to leave, the door to Snape's office opened so suddenly, he almost cried out in surprise. Snape looked as tired as Harry felt. His sharp eyes flicked up and down the corridor and came to rest on a point not too far from Harry's invisible head. Harry had a strange feeling Snape knew he was there, but he didn't care. He almost hoped Snape would discover him. Anger vibrated up and down Harry's body at the sight of the man and he felt his pulse and breath quicken. He became very aware of his wand squeezed in his fist.

Then Snape pulled the door closed behind him, waved his wand, and turned to walk toward the entrance hall. Harry took a deep breath and followed at a distance. He tried to match Snape step for step as they walked down the corridor. Snape kept a brisk pace into the Entrance Hall, stopping only to scold a couple of fourth years for using their wands to spray water at each other.

The crowd coming in and out of the Great Hall got between Snape and Harry, who had to be extra careful not to run into anyone while under the invisibility cloak. He could only imagine what would happen if he were discovered under it with Umbridge in charge of the school. He would likely never see his cloak again.

Snape walked into the Great Hall and up to the teacher's table. Harry teetered on the edge of the Hall, not sure what to do next. He wasn't even sure what he was doing in the first place. His head felt fuzzy. He turned and left to go back to the common room.

* * *

Classes that day were torture. Teachers were continuing to review for the OWLs, and it seemed no one, except for Hermione perhaps, was the least bit ready to sit for exams. Usually the warm weather outside, like they were having now, and the thought of the Easter holiday, which was starting the next day, was enough to lift spirits toward the end of term, but with only six weeks left until the OWLs, no one was feeling particularly cheery, Harry least of all.

He considered skipping dinner that night to go straight to the dormitory to sleep. He was too tired to be the least bit hungry. Hermione, however, convinced him that dinner would do him some good.

"You look dead on your feet, Harry," she said as they walked down to the Great Hall. "Did you get any sleep at all? You know," she dropped her voice to a whisper, "if you practiced more of what Professor Snape was teaching you, those dreams you're having wouldn't keep you up at night."

The sound of Snape's name made Harry's lip curl.

"Yeah, well, I think I'm done with Snape and his lessons," snapped Harry.

Ron and Hermione glanced uneasily at each other.

"Does this have something to do with last night?" asked Hermione.

"What about last night?" Harry didn't look at either of them.

"When you got back from your lesson with Snape," said Ron, "you looked-" He paused and glanced over at Hermione.

"You looked really shaken, Harry," continued Hermione. "Liked you'd seen a ghost or something."

"Seen a ghost?" Ron looked puzzled. "I wouldn't put it like that, Hermione. What's the big deal about seeing a ghost? We see ghosts all the time."

"It's a muggle figure of speech, Ron."

"Oh," he said, still confused.

"What we mean to say is that we know Snape is awful-"

"You don't know the half it," said Harry, more to himself than anyone else.

"-but those lessons are important. The more you learn, and practice, the better off you'll be."

"I'm sorry Hermione, but I'm not going back."

"But Harry, Dumbledore wants-"

Harry turned on her.

"I don't care what Dumbledore wants," he said in a whisper, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. He pulled them both into an alcove off the corridor. "He's not here. The lessons aren't helping. And Snape... He's... I'm not doing lessons with him anymore."

"But Harry-" There was a hint of pleading in her voice.

"No buts, Hermione. I'm done."

Hermione looked hurt. Ron's head swiveled back and forth between the two of them, as if he was not sure who to side with.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Look, Hermione, I'll keep practicing on my own. I promise." Harry turned and started walking toward the Great Hall again.

At dinner, Harry hardly paid any attention to what he was eating. He kept glancing up at the staff table. Hermione was going over the study schedules she had drawn up for Ron and he, tapping on each subject with her wand to color coordinate them.

Ron looked ill as he read it over.

"If we keep to them, starting tonight, you should be more than prepared once exams roll around."

"If this," he shook the piece of parchment at her, "doesn't kill me first."

"You're being dramatic, Ronald," said Hermione. "Besides, if you had made more of an effort earlier in the year, you wouldn't feel so unprepared."

Ron poked at his roast beef with a sour look on is face.

"You don't see Harry or me complaining."

Harry hadn't even looked down at the schedule. His eyes were fixed on the staff table, waiting for Snape's dark shape to enter the Hall.

"Harry."

"Harry."

"_Harry_."

Harry flinched as something small and round bounced off his glasses and on to his plate. He turned his head away from looking up the hall to see Ginny sitting across from him, loading another pea on to her spoon and aiming it at him.

"Oh. Hi Ginny."

She smiled at him and instead, flicked the loaded spoon over at Fred, who was having a whispered conversation with George.

"Distracted, are we?" She said, as she dodged a retaliatory pea from her brother.

"Yeah, I guess," said Harry. He caught himself as he started to look back up at the table. "What's up?"

"Professor Snape told me to tell you to meet him in his office tonight an hour earlier than planned and to not be late." said Ginny.

Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. Ron gave him a swift slap on the back.

"Are you really taking remedial potions, Harry? When Zachariah Smith said you were, I thought he was just being mean, like usual. I'd feel bad about that Bat Bogey hex I used on him, if it weren't for the fact that he's a foul git and deserved it no matter what."

"Uh, yeah," said Harry reluctantly. "I am."

"That sounds terrible, Harry," said Ginny, not wholly convinced. She picked up her plate and stood. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah, later," said Harry distractedly. Ginny walked away and Ron and Hermione both leaned in toward Harry.

"Why are you meeting with him?" asked Hermione in a low voice. "You just saw him last night. Are you supposed to have lessons with him every night? How will you ever study for OWLs?"

Harry had forgotten, in all that had happened last night, that Snape had rescheduled their lesson for tonight. Ron and Hermione were watching him with apprehension.

"I told you I'm not taking lessons with him any more," whispered Harry.

"But-"

"I gotta go," he said, standing up. "I will meet you in the Common Room later."

* * *

Severus Snape had a pile of essays on his desk. He prided himself on his own work ethic, but for the life of him, he did not want to wade through the lot. Students lost their focus toward the end of term, and what he was expecting to read was most likely rambling messes meant to take up as much parchment as the minimum allowed.

He set his quill down, a fresh, red D drying on the essay on top of the stack. He would finish them over the holiday weekend. He stretched his arms above his head, stood and refreshed the cup of tea he had been drinking. Crusts from the sandwich he had eaten for dinner lay on the desk. He waved his wand and vanished the plate and crumbs away.

He hadn't bothered to go down to dinner in the Great Hall. Since Dumbledore's departure, he felt less obligated to make appearances outside of his classroom and office.

He checked the clock on the wall and saw it was five past 6 o'clock. Potter was late.

Another obligation he felt less inclined to participate in since Dumbledore's departure, but one he had promised to continue, no matter the circumstances.

"I'm afraid my presence in this castle is coming to a swift end for the time being," said Dumbledore. He had called Severus to his office late, only a few nights before his escape.

"I'm not sure what you mean," said Severus.

"But I think you do," said Dumbledore. His eyes always drilled right through Severus's own. "Dolores Umbridge and Fudge have no tolerance for what is taking place at this school, and I'm afraid it will be taken out on the students if we are not careful. How many times has Umbridge requested Veritaserum from you, Severus?"

"A dozen times, at least. Don't worry," said Snape, waving his hand, "I've given her vials of fake potion, but she may be catching on."

"If she does," said Dumbledore, steepling his hands in front of his face, "you can always lay the blame on me. I can handle it, I assure you."

He smiled. It annoyed Severus.

"Just promise me, that when I leave the castle," continued Dumbledore, "you will continue Occlumency lessons with Harry."

"To what end?" said Severus. "The boy isn't practicing. He's made no effort. No improvement. He seems more intent to find out where his dreams lead him rather than in stopping them."

"Curiosity gets the better of us all," said Dumbledore with a sad smile. Severus couldn't tell who he was referring to. "At one point, or another. It's human nature. But you must keep him focused. It's very important, Severus. No matter what your feelings for the boy."

Severus gave a curt nod.

"Thank you," he said. "You give this old heart some relief, knowing you'll be here when I'm gone."

He looked up at the clock again. Ten minutes late. He had moved the lesson up by an hour because he wanted it over with. He was tired, and the lure of an uninterrupted night of sleep followed by a day off was too tempting to pass on.

Fifteen minutes late. He took a sip of tea.

Severus jumped in surprise at the hard knock that rattled his office door and dribbled tea down his robes. He whispered a curse and stood to answer it. Opening it, he saw Potter standing on the other side.

"You're late," he hissed. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

The boy didn't say anything, just stared at him with his blazing green eyes. Severus stepped aside and let him through. Potter walked by stiffly, his fists clenched at his sides. Severus' lips curled into a curt expression. It would be a long night, he was sure.

"I hope you practiced," he said, walking to his desk to take a last sip of the tea in his cup. He turned to face Potter. "I wouldn't dare to hope that we'll be interrupted again."

The boy didn't say anything. He just sat in the chair on the other side of the desk, staring ahead.

"Well?" hissed Severus. "Are you ready, Potter?"

He gave a stiff nod.

"Very well. One. Two. Three. Legilimens!"


	4. Shame

Note: Thanks for all the favs, follows, and reviews so far. I'm new to this, so any kind of encouragement is helpful :)

I had fun with this chapter. I hope you like it.

* * *

Chapter 4: Shame

Harry paced up and down the corridor outside of Snape's office. He was under his invisibility cloak, careful not to run into any of the Slytherins returning to their Common Room after dinner. He was already ten minutes late meeting Snape, but he didn't care.

He had rushed up to his dorm to grab the cloak before returning back to the dungeons. He wasn't entirely sure if he would even show up for the lesson. He had turned back a half a dozen times, but eventually made it down to the dungeon corridor. Now, he was content to just pace the hall and gather up his nerve.

He stepped lightly to keep his footsteps from sounding. He felt as though he was wearing a path in the already worn floor.

"What am I doing?" he thought to himself. He leaned against the wall across from the office door, feeling a brief moment of deja vu. If only he knew a spell for seeing through walls. Hermione probably could find him one if she didn't already know one. But that would mean having to tell Hermione what he saw, and he wasn't sure he could do that. Not yet.

Not that Snape wouldn't have wards in place against such things as spells that could see through walls, if one even existed... Shame, he thought. He could plot against Snape. He could find out all his weaknesses.

"But you do know one of his weaknesses," said a little voice in the back of his head. The thought occurred to him with a seeping sense of realization.

He knew something about Snape that no one, probably not even Dumbledore, knew. He pulled himself away from the wall, looked left, then right, and took off the cloak. He reached out and knocked on the office door without hesitation. For the first time since the night before, he knew what he was doing.

When the door opened, Harry tried to remain as passive as possible.

"You're late," hissed Snape. Harry clenched his jaw and stared at the Potions Professor. He sat down in his usual spot on the other side of Snape's desk. Snape settled himself in the chair across the desk, and was continuing to berate Harry, but Harry wasn't listening. He was ready this time. He had one singular thought - one focus - and for the first time in these lessons, in this space, across from this person he hated, he felt more prepared and confident than he had ever felt before.

"One, two, three. Legilimens!"

The office swam in front of his eyes and then vanished, but instead of the images coming to him like a flickering film reel with multiple memories pasted together clumsily, like they had done so many times before, Harry focused on concentrating hard on Snape's memory. It came, solid and vivid. Snape on the street. His mother on the stairs. Snape, as James, kissing her. Harry throwing spell after spell at the memory and Snape casting the memory charm. All flashes, but together, they put together a story that couldn't be mistaken for anything else.

The images cut off abruptly. Harry had barely opened his eyes when he saw a flash of black flying toward him.

"You!" Snape lunged toward him, his thin, white hand outstretched. A tea cup flew off the desk and shattered into pieces on the stone floor.

Harry slashed out with his wand, catching Snape's hand with a stinging hex. It didn't stop Snape from moving toward him, though. He caught Harry by the front of the robes, lifting him from his chair and throwing him back at the wall behind him. The look on Snape's face was terrifying. There was a deep, scarlet flush on his cheeks. His lips were pulled back, thin and pale, over his bared teeth. He looked like a fierce animal confronted with either fight or flight, and he had very obviously chosen fight.

Harry could feel shards of glass falling around his neck and shoulders. Jars behind him had broken with the force of his back hitting the shelves. He readied another hex, but Snape was too fast for him.

"Expelliarmus!" shouted Snape.

Harry's wand clattered to the floor somewhere on the other side of the room. Snape's black eyes burrowed into his, his wand pointed straight at him. Harry tried to sidle off to the side. He looked for a way to get back to his wand, or to at least escape the office, but Snape knew what he was thinking as soon as he thought it. He grabbed Harry by the front of the robes again and slammed him against the wall. More jars broke behind him.

Snape had his wand aimed at Harry's throat. His breath came in hisses between his clenched teeth. Time seemed to stand still in that moment. He struggled against Snape's grip on him, but the claw-like hand only tightened more and lifted him so that he had to stand on his toes.

Without magic, Harry resorted to the only thing he had. He clenched his fist and hooked it up and into Snape's face. Snape staggered back, letting go of Harry as he brought his free hand to his jaw.

Harry made for the door. Snape sent a hex that barely missed his head. He grabbed out for the knob, but was pulled by the back of his robes and thrown to the floor.

He hit the stone surface hard. His vision swam. It was a sickly feeling. He had hit his head as he fell and for a second he forgot what was going on. He reached around to the back of his head and felt a warm, stickiness in his hair. Blood. He heard himself groan, but his voice sounded very far away.

Snape stood over him, his wand still pointed. Harry could see the angry welt on his jaw. His lip was split and Snape kept running his tongue over the spot. His eyes, though, for the first time, were filled with something other than absolute fury.

Harry pulled himself up on to his elbows, his head swimming dizzily as he raised himself. He was certain he had a concussion. He dragged himself back and rested on the shelf behind him.

"What are you going to do now?" said Harry, his voice still sounding very far away, as if he were speaking to Snape at the end of a tunnel. "Kill me?"

"The thought crossed my mind," said Snape slowly. Dangerously.

They stared at each other, neither one moving save for the heaving rise and fall of their chests. Harry noted idly as he tried to gain his focus back that their breathing had synchronized. It felt very odd.

"Well?" Harry said finally. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Snape didn't answer. He kept his wand trained on Harry, but it was as if his eyes were looking at something totally different. In his silence, Harry gathered more nerve.

"Fine, I'll answer for you, shall I? You're disgusting."

Snape seemed to snap back to the present, but didn't answer. Harry went on.

"You're a coward."

Harry saw one of his eyes give a slight twitch and he moved ever so slightly forward, toward him. Spider-like.

"I have to hear you berate my family day after day. You degrade me for who my parents were, but all this time, you've had this little secret tucked away in your greasy head. All this time, you knew what you did to my family."

Snape's wand hand started to shake.

"Did it make up for everything James supposedly did to you? Did it ma-" Harry's voice cut off. His breath was coming hard. He felt like he was gasping for air. Everything that had been screaming inside his head was bursting out, but so was all the pent up emotion he had tried to stave off. He felt a hard lump forming in his throat, but he wouldn't let Snape get the best of him. He wouldn't break down in front of his man.

Snape's wand hand was shaking so hard now that red sparking were bursting from the end.

"Just do it already," said Harry, the weight of his aching head too much. He slumped back on to the floor. Consciousness was threatening to leave him. He felt his eyes slide close.

A door slammed. His eyes flew open. Snape was no longer standing over him. He raised himself onto his elbows and looked around. The office was empty.

* * *

Even though the days were warm, the last weeks of April meant brisk nights. Severus pulled his traveling cloak up around his neck as he walked out of the castle and toward Hogsmeade.

His exit from the castle wasn't as clean as he hoped. Umbridge had been hovering around the Entrance Hall, disciplining students as they finished dinner and made their way back to their common rooms.

"Professor!"

He had considered ignoring her but thought better of it, considering the circumstances. With Dumbledore gone, he couldn't risk crossing Umbridge, not when he currently had her trust.

Severus stopped, took a breath, and turned back toward her.

"Headmistress," he said coolly.

"I'm wondering where you are off to?" she said in her most sickly sweet voice. "I didn't see you at dinner."

"As of the end of classes this afternoon," he said, "the Easter holiday began."

She aimed a simpering smile at him.

"Yes, indeed," she said. "But that didn't answer my question."

He arched an eyebrow at her.

"Headmistress," he said through slightly clenched teeth, "with all due respect, what I do with my free time is entirely my own business. Your authority doesn't yet reach the point where you can dictate what I do after hours."

"You are right," she said. "It doesn't. Not yet."

Severus inclined his head ever so slightly in response and turned to leave.

He had planned to disapparate right outside the castle's wards, and would have been glad for it to get away from the castle as fast as possible, but decided to walk into Hogsmeade first, in case Umbridge had eyes on him. Disapparating right away would garner suspicion, perhaps, but making a show of going for a drink and assessing the situation before leaving would put him in a better position. And he could speak to Aberforth before he went.

Severus felt exposed as he walked. He liked the cover of darkness, but it was April and the sun was still hovering above the horizon. The crunch of his boots on the gravel was the only sound as he walked. He picked up his pace. Walking meant thinking, and he wanted nothing more than to be out of his own head.

His most guarded secret, the one no one knew about, was exposed. And of all the people to find it, it had to be Potter.

Severus let out an audible growl. Potter.

Now that the adrenalin of the encounter was washing away, it was replaced by another feeling. Shame. That tingling feeling of shame radiating from his gut, out to his limbs, to his fingers and toes. Even thinking about it now made his stomach drop as if he were in a falling elevator.

What made it worse, if that were at all possible, was the fact that he had to face those eyes, her eyes, again tonight. It was as if Lily were looking at him again in puzzlement and anger, like the night he awoke in her bedroom, himself again, and had to face down what he had done.

He replayed the scenario over and over in his head often. How he could have snuck away before the Polyjuice potion had worn off. How he could have cast a memory charm on Lily as she slept. How he could have just denied the impulse he had to even go to her house in the first place. So many opportunities to do the right thing, and he ignored every single one.

Potter was right, he thought with a twinge of anger. He was disgusting. And cowardly.

He should have been more careful with the Pensieve. He knew that now. He shouldn't have put it past Potter to go snooping. He should have locked Potter out of his office the night before. That's when he went looking in the Pensieve, he was sure of it.

Another scenario he would replay in his head, over and over. More regrets.

Severus was so in his head, that he was surprised when he had reached the edge of the village. He veered off the main road and winded through the side streets until he came upon the Hog's Head. Once inside the dingy pub, he sat at the bar and waited. He wasn't the only one in the bar tonight, which made him nervous.

A man with tangled gray hair and a beard walked behind the bar and gave Severus a curt nod.

"Evening," Aberforth said, returning the glasses he carried with him to their place beneath the bar. "What can I get for you?"

"A room," said Severus, pulling out a leather pouch.

"Anything else?"

"A drink."

Aberforth looked at him serenely, waiting. It was moments like these that he reminded Severus of Dumbledore the most.

"Surprise me," said Severus slowly. He put his money on the bar and returned the leather pouch into the folds of his cloak.

Aberforth nodded and went off into the room beside the bar. He returned a few minutes later with a bottle. He poured it into a glass and set it in front of Severus.

"Enjoy," he said gruffly. "You've got the room at the end of the hall." He walked away and back into the room off the bar again.

Severus looked at the glass of black beer. He gave it a sniff and than a sip before setting it back down on the bar. He wished for something a bit stronger, but his would do for now.

He watched the bar discreetly as he sipped the beer. It was a little warm, but good otherwise. The patrons tonight were quiet. Everyone, five people in all, was sitting by themselves. It was quiet, save for the sound of glasses being set back on the rough, wooden tables. He didn't recognize anyone, which was both a good and bad thing. He knew that there were spies in Hogsmeade, Ministry or otherwise. But Severus was a very good liar when he needed to be.

He finished his beer and walked through the dark little hallway to the creaky stairs at the back of the pub. Once at the top of the stairs, he paused and listened. He wanted to make sure he wasn't being followed.

After a few moments, he continued down the hall and into the room at the end.

It was small, dirty and dark. The one window facing the alley behind the bar was so dirty it was almost opaque. There was a sliver of sunlight above the horizon still.

Severus made sure the door was locked before closing the curtains with his wand. He cast a Muffliato charm in case anyone happened to be listening.

He took a breath and then turned on the spot with a loud CRACK.

* * *

The street outside of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was empty and quiet. Severus had apparated right onto the topmost step. He pulled out his wand, gave the door a tap and heard a metallic click before opening it.

Inside, it was dark. None of the lamps had been lit in the hall, and as he walked toward the kitchen, he was careful not to run into anything and risk waking Mrs. Black.

In the kitchen, a fire burned low in the grate. The light it gave off was dim and flickering and Severus saw a shadow of a man sitting at the end of the long table that ran the length of the kitchen.

Severus stepped inside and cleared his throat to announce his presence.

"Good evening, Severus," said Dumbledore, looking up from the cup of tea in his hand.

"Headmaster," said Severus, nodding.

Dumbledore gave a little laugh.

"I believe that current circumstances would disallow the use of that title, for the time being."

Severus didn't respond.

"I see that Aberforth's message system was a success," continued Dumbledore. "An ingenious idea on his part. Black beer for Number 12, butterbeer for out of the country, and ah, what was the third drink?"

"Firewhiskey," said Severus. "It means 'No one has a clue where you are.'"

Dumbledore gave a little laugh.

"Come in, Severus, have a seat. Would you like a cup of tea? I believe there is a little left in the pot."

"I came, Headmaster," said Severus, not moving from the threshold of the door, "to speak to you. In private."

"If you are wondering where Sirius is, I believe he is upstairs with Buckbeak."

"I mean," continued Severus, "I would like to speak to you in private, where there isn't a chance of us being overheard."

"Do you come to me with Order business?" asked Dumbledore. His eyes were looking straight through him. "Or is this something else?"

"Please, Headmaster," said Severus through gritted teeth. "Somewhere private."

Dumbledore sighed heavily and stood.

"Very well. This way."

Dumbledore led Severus upstairs to a door on the second floor. The room was small and furnished with only a bed with decayed hangings around its four posts. Once the door was closed, Severus cast a Muffliato charm. Dumbledore conjured a fire and two squishy, bright crimson armchairs and placed them in front of the fireplace. He sat in one and motioned for Severus to sit in the other.

"What was so urgent that you risked coming to me, Severus," said Dumbledore sternly. The firelight danced eerily off of his half-moon spectacles, giving him an otherworldly appearance.

Severus took a deep breath and recounted for him the night's events. As he spoke, he waited for a change in the old man's demeanor. He waited for disgust to flicker behind his eyes. For anger. For some emotion, but he stayed passive as Severus spoke. After he finished, silence hung between them for a long time.

"Why," said Dumbledore quietly, "have you come to tell me this?"

"Headmaster?" Severus looked at him with a pained expression. It wasn't the question he had expected first.

"Why, after all these years, have you come to tell me this? Is it because Harry now knows, or is it something else?"

Severus wasn't sure if he understood, but hazarded a response anyway.

"I wanted to tell you," he said slowly. Deliberately. "I wanted to tell you and not be confronted with it later."

Dumbledore's brow was raised. "Confronted?"

"Potter would have come to you with this," continued Severus, attempting to keep contempt out of his voice. "I wanted to tell you, rather than be confronted with the knowledge of it - by you, most likely - later."

"I see," he said. He moved his eyes to the fire and sat silent for a while. Severus couldn't pull his away from the old man, though. He waited for a change in his face. He waited for the condemnation to come.

"It's shameful, what you've done," said Dumbledore, his eyes resting again on Severus. "You know it. I can see you know it."

Severus gave a minute nod.

"Were you expecting me to berate you for it? Or perhaps reassure you that you aren't that man anymore?"

"I-," he didn't know how to answer that question.

"Why, Severus," Dumbledore raised his voice ever so slightly, "did you come to me?"

"Your opinion of me is the only one I care about," he blurted out. He immediately wanted to take the words back, but the look of satisfaction on Dumbledore's face told him this is what he was looking for.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "There it is. And do you have an answer to your question?"

Severus shook his head. "I never know."

"Only you know how you feel about yourself," said Dumbledore, "And from the looks of it, that's the greatest punishment of all, isn't it?"

Severus dropped his eyes to his hands.

"Now," Dumbledore said, seemingly changing topics with the tone of his voice. "A more practical question. Are you certain no one ever knew? It seems a shaky circumstance at best that no one saw holes in Lily's altered memory."

"Would I be sitting here if anyone knew?" said Snape, looking up but not meeting Dumbledore's gaze.

"It seems unlikely they would have known it was you," he said.

Severus didn't like the casual tone Dumbledore was using when discussing this. It unnerved him to his core.

"Perhaps not," he said. Shame boiled in him with such force, he thought it might explode through the top of his head. "I thought Alice might have suspected something."

"Any chance the memory charm was broken?"

"I-I don't know. Again, I don't think I would be sitting here if anyone knew."

"I see," said Dumbledore nodding. "Well, is there anything else you wish to share with me?"

Severus couldn't believe how casual Dumbledore was being. As he met the man's eyes, though, he could see there was far more meant by his tone than he was letting on. He was going to let him suffer without the knowledge of his true feelings about what he had done. It was the greatest punishment of all, it seemed. There was a time when Dumbledore had not kept his contempt for Severus' actions a secret. He had told Severus of his disgust for what he had done when he was bound to the Dark Lord. What had changed? Is it that he had now known him well enough to know what would sting the most?

"Only the matter of Potter," he finally answered. "I've got two months of classes left with him, and this presents a slight challenge."

"I dare say it does," said Dumbledore. "Do you think he's told anyone what he knows?"

Severus shook his head. "I don't know. If he does tell anyone, it would be Granger and Weasley."

"And Sirius?"

"He would have no way of communicating with Black if he wanted to."

"Perhaps. And that's probably best. For all involved." Dumbledore stood, signaling the end of their conversation.

"Headmaster," said Severus, rising also. "You didn't answer my question."

"You'll just have to endure what this situation brings for the remainder of the year," said Dumbledore. "I daresay it's the least of what you deserve."

And there it was, thought Severus. A peek at what he suspected Dumbledore might think. He almost felt relief and the sound of contempt in his tone.

"If I am able to return, I can speak to Harry. But I can't say I know when that will be. Maybe you should try talking to him?"

Severus absent-mindedly ran his tongue over the split in his lip.

"Ah, perhaps not," said Dumbledore with a sad look on his face.

* * *

The walk back through Hogsmeade and up to the castle was uneventful. Severus was able to make it back to his office without running into staff, student, ghost or even Filch.

Once inside his office, he surveyed the damage. There were broken jars everywhere. Slimey dead things were strewn about. He flicked his wand and repaired what he could. He threw the rest away.

He half-expected Potter to be waiting for him when he returned, or for his office to be destroyed. But the boy had retrieved his wand and left, the only sign of their earlier confrontation the small spot of blood on the worn stone floor.


End file.
